


Ice Cream and Old Knees

by orphan_account



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sal and Joe have a tryst in a public park at midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream and Old Knees

Sal follows Joe out of the crowded bar and out onto the slightly less noisy street. It’s kind of chilly. If he squints, Sal can barely see wisps of their breath. Sal is just about to ask Joe where they were going when suddenly, Joe is pushing up against him and crushing their mouths together.

Shocked, Sal pulls abruptly pulls away.

“Ummm, am I missing something here?”

Joe laughs like Sal’s making a joke.

“You know, that was so sincere, I almost believed you,” Joe chuckles good naturedly, going in for another kiss.

Sal pulls back and halts Joe’s movement with broad palms on sturdy shoulders.

“What the hell is going on?” Sal asks.

Joe can hear the force behind his words this time. Maybe Sal really didn’t know…

“Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

The impatience and annoyance in his question are clear.

“Oh,” Joe starts. “You know, it’s the whole being your best friend and falling in love with you thing. Usually the drinks lead right into something else. Like in those cheesy romance movies starring the guys with the good hair. I thought you knew.”

Well, that raised some questions, though at least it answered his initial one.

“Are you confessing your love to me right now? Like for real. Not a joking kind of love. But the real fucking kind of love.”

Even in the dark, Sal can see him blush. He wears it well.

“Yeah,” Joe answers, kicking a rock near his foot.

Sal’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “How long?”

Joe chuckles sadly, shrugs.

“Oh, I don’t know. Freshman orientation day?”

He says it like it means something to him. Maybe it does. He knows he has always been oblivious when it came to figuring out who was interested in whom on set. He just never thought that would ever include himself or his friends. He feels like shit for admitting it. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Sal shoots him a look. There was no way. There was just no way. This was too weird. Did the guys know? Did they approve of this? He still wasn’t 100% convinced this wasn’t a prank.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, okay? And you don’t have to say anything right now either. This was my dirty little secret.”

Sal doesn’t answer. Why is he not surprised that Joe’s feelings for him are completely obvious to him now that he’s mentioned it.

“Look, we can just go get ice cream or something and call it a night. Tonight is supposed to be fun, and I just…I can’t give you an answer right now, buddy. I can’t do it, and I don’t want to hurt you. You know I care about you still.”

Joe thinks it over for a second.

“You’re buying?”

Sal smiles.

“I’m buying.”

They find a diner that’s open late, and they each order a cone to go. It seems silly to be eating ice cream outside in early October, but it tastes so good that Sal doesn’t really mind. They lick at their scoops (“They’re called scoopskis!”)—Sal, coffee bean and Joe, raspberry cheesecake—and walk in silence until they reach a park. It’s late and no one is there, so they wander over to the swings to sit and finish their treat.

“Thanks. For telling me,” Sal finally says, now that some of the shock has worn off.

Joe gives a tiny nod.

“There isn’t anyone else that I would pick.”

Sal smiles. It’s nice to be wanted. It’s even nicer to be chosen amongst dozens of other amazing people. 

“Oh, wait, you’re dripping. There, on your cheek.”

Lost in his reverie, he’d let his ice cream drip unchecked. A big grown man with a big grown job with a big smudge of ice cream on his face.

Joe reaches up to swipe his thumb across the smear, and Sal watches as he sucks his thumb into his mouth until all the residual flavor is gone. It’s somewhere between watching Joe lick his ice cream cone and then his thumb in the park that make Sal get where Joe is coming from. Sal swallows, and Joe grins that grin that says he has Sal right where he wants him.

“Did you plan this part too?”

Joe chuckles.

“No, it just happened that way. Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Sal breathes.

They lean in to each other from their respective swings to kiss again. Their cones fall to the ground, to be found later by curious critters and bugs when the sun came up.  
Eventually, they stand to get closer to each other, hands beginning to wander under shirts and down pants, grabbing for more, more, more. 

“I want you,” Joe murmurs into another deep kiss.

Sal tries to think. They’re at a park, protected only by the cover of darkness and just barely enough distance from near-by street lamps.

“Someone could see.”

Joe pulls Sal’s light jacket away from his shoulders.

“It’s just us here.”

Sal looks to the street and sidewalk nervously. Probably no one will be out walking late, but if they’re out here, who’s to say no one else will?

“Come here,” Joe says, taking his hand and pulling him deeper into the park.

Joe gently presses on his shoulders until he’s sitting down at the edge of a cold, metal slide. He shivers.

“Do you trust me?”

Joe asks him the question with a corona of street lamp light around him. His whole body is shrouded in darkness except for these tiny edges of yellow-orange light.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, Joe is dropping to his knees and the light is fully exposed again. Reflexively, he squints and throws his arm up, which gives Joe just enough time to work his pants open.

“What are you—?”

“Trust me.”

And he does. He does, he does, he does. But this feels so weird and wrong. He feels like he’s going to get caught or that someone’s going to jump out of a bush with a camera, yelling “gotcha!” Nothing of the sort actually happens. In reality, it really is just the two of them in this dark and chilly park.

Suddenly, Joe’s got his dick in his hand, and his brain sort of stops being able to think.

“Ready?” Joe asks.

Sal swallows hard and frantically nods his head, not trusting his voice. It’d be pretty stupid to turn a blowjob down now, right? He falls back against the slide then because Joe had decided to wrap his lips around the head of his dick just as he did when they were eating ice cream. It’s obvious to Sal now that that had been part of the plan all along.

Joe takes him in bit by bit, forcing Sal to grip the harsh metal sides of the slide in his hands. He’s almost too big to comfortably lie on it, but like hell was he moving a single inch.  
Joe pulls off his dick, and Sal immediately looks up, eyes wide. What was wrong? Joe’s panting, but smiling. He’s surprisingly good at this, which raises a few questions that Sal plans on saving for later.

“You can touch me, you know.”

Sal stares stupidly back, and Joe laughs. Rather than repeat himself, Joe gently pries Sal’s fingers from the slide and places them in the short hair on the sides of his head. When Sal runs soothing fingers through his soft, greying hair, Joe takes that as his cue to continue.

As Joe resituates, he tries not to let Sal notice him wince. God, he was fucking forty and yet here he was, kneeling on concrete and woodchips in the middle of the park in the almost-middle of the night. He hopes Sal appreciates it…

But enough waxing poetic. He’s got to finish what he’s started. This time, Joe decides to go for gold and swallows him nearly whole. Sal finally moans aloud, and, even though Joe can’t properly breathe, he counts it as a victory.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sal moans, squirming and trying not to fuck Joe’s face.

He grips (pulls) Joe’s hair, making him grunt around his hard prick. It feels amazing, so he does it a few more times until even Joe is swatting at his hands. God, when was the last time he had been so damn overeager? High school? College?

Joe swallows around his dick rhythmically, and Sal decides that is doesn’t matter. Not when he’s already so, so close to coming.

“Joe? Fuck. Joe, I can’t. Ah, fuck.”

He can’t even get the words out and he’s squirming again because he knows he can’t wait another single second. But then Joe’s baby blue eyes dart up, and a feeling of liquid heat shoots through his veins, and he’s finally coming, and coming hard, and he thinks he’s going to get hard again after he watch Joe turn to the side and spit onto the woodchips, a filthy reminder of what they just did.

When the ringing in his ears dies down, he is calmed by the quietness of the park. All he can hear now is their heavy breathing, and all he can feel is Joe’s head resting against his knee while his dick softens against his jeans and jacket.

“That was…”

Sal’s not sure how to finish that sentence. No word or words really sound adequate or appropriate.

He tries again.

“Do you want me to…?”

Joe chuckles low in his throat.

“No, that’s okay. You don’t gotta worry about me. No pressure, remember?”

Sal feels his face heat up. 

“Oh. Well.”

He tries not to feel hurt. That would be silly, right? This was obviously supposed to be a one-time thing. The thought galvanizes him, and he starts setting his clothes to rights.  
Joe stands with a wince. This time, Sal notices.

“I have old man knees.”

Sal looks at his knees when he says it, and, sitting on the slide, he’s at the perfect height to see that Joe looks hard enough to pound nails. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to?”

He kind of hates himself for asking, well, begging, to give his buddy a blow job or a hand job or whatever after the whole love confession thing earlier in the evening. And maybe it’s stupid, but he doesn’t want to have to pretend that this meant nothing to him when it did. Joe looks at his feet like he’s embarrassed for being called out, or maybe he’s just trying to think of something to say.

“I really gotta go,” Joe says lamely.

“Yeah, okay.”

“This was fun.”

“Mhmm.”

Joe bites his lip before crowding into Sal’s personal space again, kissing him deeply. Sal tastes himself—so, so bitter—but there is a leftover hint of Joe’s raspberry ice cream too. He tries not to let himself be distracted by the kiss. He tries to remember that it doesn’t mean anything to him or to Joe.

“I have to go,” Joe says.

“See you later.”

Joe starts walking away before turning around once more.

“We’ll talk about this later when we’ve both had some time to think.”

Sal smiles a small smile.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Joe says.

He watches Joe walk away and wonders to himself and the stars above his head if Joe Gatto had been _the one_ this whole goddamn time.


End file.
